


Pick Right

by nevereatdirt



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Quadrant Vacillation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:18:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevereatdirt/pseuds/nevereatdirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brought together by mysterious circumstances and fate, three trolls fight towards adulthood and all of the strangeness it entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolog

You throw a fist and connect with grey skin.  Your strength alone can get you through this.  It’s gotten you this far after all.

But something pushes you back and you hit the floor.  A weight sits on top of you and a terrible voice taunts and teases you.

So weak.

So fucking weak.

Are you sure that you’re really a sea dweller?  Or are these just for decoration.

You hiss and feel a hand at your throat.  Not wanting to kill, but going for pain.  Claws dig at your gills and you know.

You know that you picked your kismesis right.


	2. Chapter One

**Eridan**

Eight sweeps old.  You’re almost an adult.  At least in your eyes.  Your blood twin is _eleven_ and and your sire still thinks of him as an adolescent.  But what does some fucking ancient teenager know anyway?  He’s barely even _twenty_ and some of the sires that you’ve seen are well into theirs and older!  Especially when it comes to sea dwellers.

And yet here the two of you are.  Left with your sire because your blood was a match to his.   _And_ your horns, what were the chances?  And your blood twin is so much _like_ him, it’s incredible.  Tall, lean and intimidating.  Both of them with scars on their faces.  A sign of a true troll your sire would say.

A fucking losers mark if someone asked you.

But they never do.  So you sit on the shore and throw rocks into the sea, watching the fauna below scatter.  You take pride in this ability.  Few trolls can throw with enough force to scare away some of these white skinned lusii.  And you’re one of them.

You look up when you hear footsteps, though.  You may be a violet blood, but on these shores you can never be too careful.  There’s only _one_ of you and there are at least three sets of footsteps coming toward you.  One of the trolls is tall.  Even compared to _you_ and you’re not exactly short by any standard.  And they all look just emaciated.  You’re beginning to wonder what’s brought them here and that’s when you remember your sire saying something about a meeting?  A group of twelve, blah blah, something about a game they played as kids, blah.  You were only half paying attention if you’re being honest.

But these trolls are such low blooded filth that you find it hard to believe that your sire would have _ever_ had something to do with one of them.

That’s when you notice their eyes.

Each of them has one red and one blue, and they give off a faint glow.  You can practically smell the psionics from where you’re sitting and you tense, ready to fight them if you have to.  They might have shitty _mind_ powers but you’re strong.  You’re bigger than the littlest one anyway.

What a fucking relief.

You stand your ground, ready for them to do _something_ to you, but instead they pass you by completely.  They don’t even falter when they see someone of your caste.  You growl softly at them and the apparent youngest of them turns to you.  He smirks and send you flying into the sand with a shock of red and blue.

For a few moments you lay there, completely stunned.   _No one_ tosses Eridan Ampora around like that without you exacting your revenge.

No one.

**Karkat**

Your blood twin, as per usual, is refusing to shut up.  He’s just fucking going on, and _on_ and _ON_ about god knows what.  And that leaves you sitting at this table, in this sea dwellers castle looking around and eyeing everyone up.  You’ve seen a few of these trolls before.  And you’ve heard stories about others.  But some of them look pitiable and even more look absolutely loathable.  Good thing you’ve got all those quadrants filled or you’d feel like a starving troll being forced to look at a buffet of the most tantalizing delicacies imaginable bt being told to not.  Touch.  Anything.

Oh right.  None of your quadrants are filled and you _are_ that starving bastard.  You slump into your seat and your sire gives you a _look_ and you sit right the fuck back up.  You know that look.   _Pay attention, Karkat_ , he’s trying to tell you.   _Pay attention.  This is important_.

So you roll your eyes and turn toward the front of the table where your host apparent is seated.  He’s a tall, imposing figure and as you watch him assess the room, you can’t help but to be a little grateful that he isn’t your sire.  The two trolls on either side of him, his descendants you assume, are forced to stand.  One of them looks completely relaxed.  At ease in any kind of situation, despite an arrogant, sleazy air about it.  And the other stands bolt upright, a look trying to mimic that of his sire’s on his face.  On him it’s completely comical.  A joke to be enjoyed by everyone else in the room.

And you pity him for it.

Not in a red sense.  You don’t even _know_ this asshole.  But you want to tell him that it’s going to be okay.  That he doesn’t have to stand like that.  You feel this pale tug at your heart and you just want to pull him to your chest and stroke his hair.  You swallow and fall forward, hitting your head against the table.  No one here should see you blush.  You’d be killed for it.  For fucking _blushing_.  Though... your sire’s eyes are a brilliant red and no one has said anything.

You wonder if everyone here already knows.

It would be hard _not_ to know with how your sire dresses and your insufferable blood twin spouts off about the hemospectrum’s treatment of mutants.  You sit back up when you feel a hand on your back.  Your sire again, probably.  But the hand is too cold.  All hands that don’t belong to trolls in your mutant hue are too cold.

You look up and see a yellow blood smirking down at you.  He’s your sire’s age and the they embrace quickly after you sit up.  Soon they take their seats and you can’t help but to notice that he _also_ has two descendants.

Fuck, all of the adults here do.

You’re beginning to wonder what it is that brought all of you together, but the smallest yellow blood is someone you know.  You had no idea that your sires knew each other and you just shrug at him.  He shrugs back and then looks at your palecrush, throwing psionics his way.

Perfect.  Your best friend is already black for someone that you’re pale for.

That’s some real troll-opera level bull shit right there.

You slink back into your seat and wait for the rest of the chairs to be filled.  It’s going to be a long night.

**Sollux**

You sit in your chair like a fucking _king_ because hey.  Fuck everyone here.  All these high bloods and their fancy-schmancy shit anyway.  You’re fine with your computers and codes.  All those organic parts just make you fucking purr with excitement.

You’re glad to see that Karkat’s here too, though.  That means at least one troll’s going to take more shit that you.  But who are you to judge?  You do not give a _shit_ about the spectrum.  What the fuck is even below yellow anyway?  You shake the thought out of your head and just watch the mayhem in the room.  The high bloods are, of course, all being polite to each other though you can tell that they will slit each other’s throats at the drop of a hat.

Meanwhile the low bloods and mid bloods are all sitting around enjoying a nice, almost calm not-meal at this table.  For fuck’s sake the host didn’t even bother to get some food out for you. How are the energy-consuming psionics here supposed to even stay alive all day if there’s no food?

You shrug again and pull out an energy bar, even though your sire glares at you.  You know he’s jealous.  He’d be doing the same fucking thing if he’d thought ahead.  Heh, sucker.

It takes like shit, but you don’t really care.  If you don’t eat something now in a few hours you might not be here and no one fucking wants that.  Except for you on some days, but you’d rather not think about that.  You look up to the head of the table at your host.  He’s a grisly fucker with some impressive scars.  Hasn’t said a _word_ since you’ve walked in and you assume that he hasn’t said one at all.  And won’t until everyone is here.  Which you hope is soon because you’re fucking starving.

But next to that stoic fucker stand his descendants.  Wow you are so glad that you are low blood filth because standing this long would make you want to blow a hole in someone’s head with your psionics.  You want to throw even more psionics his way, if you’re being honest, but you don’t have the energy.  Not right now.

Fucking metabolism.

Instead you just make faces at him, trying to get him to break out of whatever fucking face he’s pulling.

But before you can do anything, the room goes silent and Her Imperial fucking Condescension is in the room with the heiresses.

You may as well just sit back and wait for her to sign you, your blood twin and your sire up for her crew of helmsmen because unless some miracle happens, none of the three of you will be walking out of her of your own free will.  You look over and see Karkat slink into his seat and you want to try and protect his short ass, even if it throws you in her way.

But instead of saying anything she walks to the head of the table and shoos your host out of his seat.  He and his descendants move to the other end of the table and actually sit.  He looks like, under any other circumstances, he’d be livid having to sit with the low bloods.  But his eyes are locked on her in a reverence that you know can only be red, putting a softness in his hard features.

You swallow, watching Karkat introduce himself to the asshole you’d shoved over and you want to pull him away and growl at the violet blooded fucker.   _Mine_.

But he isn’t, really.

So you sit and you chew at your shitty energy bar while the Empress calls for food to be brought out at last.


End file.
